


Red Vision

by ostagaar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Lyrium, M/M, Tranquil AU, Tranquil Dorian, Tranquility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ostagaar/pseuds/ostagaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rite of tranquility is placed upon Dorian, and Cullen archives the experience with journal entries and memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Vision

**Author's Note:**

> ((Moved from my other account))
> 
> This hurt me to write. I hope it hurts you to read. (Only in the good way!!) Be mindful that it switches between Cullen writing notes to memories and eventually scenes.
> 
> Prone to future text edits ! I didn't have a beta, so excuse any errors, but I wanted to write this down as soon as I can so I could share !! Have fun.

One would think the rite of tranquility would be something that happens over a period of time; not taking effect the second it is laid, or shall I dare write, cursed upon you. Death would be preferable, so I hear. But I am no mage, I cannot fathom the amount of fear an apostate has referring to becoming tranquil.

Tranquility. A state which you become nothing, so to speak. You're not the same person. Color, drained from your world in the matter of a single second. No emotions...no thoughts. A human vegetable, perhaps, but one whom can speak and move about. It's painful to watch with my own eyes. To witness the rite be casted onto its victim. To see the light drain from his eyes was...the least I can describe...devastating.

Horrific.

No, unbelievable. Unreal, even. It's hard to describe into words on paper.

Describable as something you'd see in a nightmare. Something I am no stranger of nor shall ever be. But this, seeing him saunter around so lifelessly pains even myself. As commander, I shouldn't let one life reach out to me as much as his did.

Dorian of House Pavus.

Given the Rite of Tranquility, performed by none other than his father. Of course the bastard would do this to him. I had always known of the fights the two had. The arguments. His father always considering him a failure just because of his own life choices.

He chose me. He chose to spend his time and sleep with me, giving me attention when I needed it most. Which, honestly, I can write, was all the time.

My poor Dorian.

My everything. And I can't believe it has taken me this long to figure that he was all I had besides the Inquisition. Always at my side. He called me his amatus, love, meaning that we were together. Forever and always as he - - -

No. He shall remain a mere memory now. For my own sake. I cannot treat the tranquil as the person they once were. What I see in Skyhold today is no longer the man I spent my time loving. Hardly a mind in a body that will remain all too familiar to me.

Ridiculous; he might as well be dead. It would hurt less than this; seeing him so...

His death shall only bring everyone peace, I know it, but I cannot bring myself to either make the order or do it myself.  
\----

"Do you think we will ever grow old?"

The light of a dim candle lit the Mages face in the darkness of Cullen's room, flickering off each edge and curve of his features. A beautiful sight as always.

"Odd." The commander thought out loud to his question, "Sounds as if you're suggesting you're immortal." He paused, giving him a soft smile, a tease he assumed. "Eternally young now, are we?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know." Dorian would lead on playfully, fingers weaving in and out of Cullen's blond curls absentmindedly.

Sex usually ran like this; Raw, passionate...then relaxing and steady afterwards, finding protection in each other's arms in the bed above Cullen's office. The door always remained locked at night, Cullen had learned his lesson, giving them privacy and silence all to themselves.

"Well, if we were to ever grow old, I would like to think of a home on a hill...maybe a farm." Cullen continued to muse at the thought of them growing long, twisting grey beards, rocking in chairs on the front porch of a small villa. Perfect, he thought.

Dorian scoffed, "No no, I think you misunderstood. I would not be the one aging." He was smiling, of course he was joking (or was he?); choking back a laugh and failing.

"Excuse me?" The commander laughed back, "But aren't we supposed to grow old together?"

"No-! Of course not! I'm still a dashing young man while I see specks of grey in your beard already." Dorian said, voice hushed.

He wasn't wrong, the Inquisition had brought a lot of stress on Cullen. A sad thing to watch such a bright man fade into a weakened shadow of what he once was. But he was still himself at least.

"--And even then I'm sure I will fall before you! I am the one on the battlefield while you...you...sit behind a desk and table filling out forms."

Cullen wished that wasn't true, but the likelihood of Dorian dying first was truthfully way too high for his liking. He'd rather not picture it.

Cullen was dazing already, eyes half closed and focused on his lover ranting about how their lives would be lived and how tragic his own death would be. Cullen watched most of his words, not listen exactly.

The commander caught the Atlus off guard. "Will my wrinkles ever bother you?" Cullen asked, kissing up Dorians jaw. A random question, but it truly bothered the man. What Dorian thought of him. He needed constant reassurance that Dorian was still interested on him and his looks.

"They don't now. What makes you think they ever will?" Dorian giggled, a finger lightly tracing the wrinkles meeting the crooks of his eyes.

They laugh together, joking, but sweet for the rest of the night, tired until they fall asleep at each other's words. And the day would end with them tangled in each other's bodies as they slept till the sun rose again.

\----  
I have begun taking lyrium again.

/a few scribbles are presented, words crossed out/

Dorian kept me away for as long as he could. I was finally recovering. As if he warded away my haunting dreams and helped me recover from my sickly addiction so flawlessly. I was almost human again, it felt. If I could only go back...it was him that encouraged me to stay away from the shit, why couldn't I stick to it?

Him only. Not the Inquisitor. Not seeker pentaghast. Him.

And I let him down.

/there's red on the page/

It keeps me going. The lyrium. Otherwise, I would not be able to lead this inquisition. Though, our main threat has subsided, there is still a constant battle. I need this lyrium now as much as I need him. But it's too late for that now.

I crave this crimson more than the sensation of his touch now. The lyrium hot on my flesh and tongue as he would be. Oh, how I sincerely miss you, Dorian. I wish I could - - -

No. I cannot reiterate my feelings to an emotionless sack of shi - - -

That creature in Skyhold with his face is not my beloved. It is not him!

/word become scribbled. Messy. More red before the bottom of the page is torn off/

\---

A large chamber, but all too private. It shouldn't have been as quiet as it were. A few tevinter magisters and chantry servants surrounded the man titled Magister Halward Pavus, a monster in the eyes of his victim. His own son. No one had expected him to come as far as punishing his son as he had this day. This day shouldn't have been happening, but it was.

Cullen had had nightmares of losing Dorian like this often, but not as frequent as the good dreams he had as he was recovering from his addiction. Nightmares of reds and oranges, the chantry sunburst, the look in Dorian's eyes as the rite of tranquility was placed upon him.

But this was no nightmare. Reality, instead, coming down with a crashing force on the commander. Real. This was happening. And oh, how he wished it wasn't.

Dorian Pavus was on his knees, shackled on display. A chantry brother was praying for him, while another listed his charges.

"Abandonment."

"Treason."

"Homosexuality."

"Murder."

The list went on; Dorian visibly shaking with fear could be seen by the many faces of the inquisition. The sweat beading at his temple, dousing the black hair that was draped over his eyebrows, rather than the upright groomed position he had it in.

The worst part: the Inquisition could only watch.

No interfering or a war between The a Tevinter Imperium and the Inquisition might as well be set in motion. A risk no one, not even the Inquisitor, was willing to take. They knew the cost, recognized it, and spoke to Dorian of their choice while he was in his cell the night before.

The Inquisitor had to mentally remind themselves constantly, while among the crowd watching the ritual, that Dorian agreed to this. He offered himself. Turned himself in without a fight, in name of the inquisition, rather than change himself to become the perfect image his father wanted. When Halward had threatened the Inquisition with tevinter forces, slaves mostly, under his control, Dorian had no say in the matter. The choice was above him.

Dorian, Atlus of house Pavus, accused of cold murder. Or, rightfully so. The mage had brutally killed a infamous magister, seen by a duke who had no right to speak of what he saw. Or did, and didn't take the bait of accepting a bribe to keep his mouth shut.

Dorian knew he should've killed him too, but it was too late. The duke had sent out soldiers and captured the man, who could only appreciate they didn't charge him with the deaths in his hands from working with the inquisition.

To become tranquil didn't seem like a bad idea, to people who were not Mages, Dorian said, seeing the look of fear in the eyes of some and not others. You stayed alive, kept your limbs, body...but not your mind. Sure, one would have their thoughts, but behind a thick wall that stopped them making choices on their own accord. Emotionless. A grey world of sadness and screaming on the inside, wanting to be free. So really, being made tranquil or agreeing to his fathers blood magic to change his sexuality, a Dorian saw no difference.

Even then, hanged by the neck until dead was preferable to Dorian.

This was a chantry chamber, despite how grave the situation was, it was almost hard to tell. The eyes of Andraste smiling down upon them from the many gold sculptures. Oh, how Dorian wished he could knock down every single one in one last fatal attempt for his sanity, but knew how risky it was, keeping silent by biting on his tongue, trying to ignore the words being spoken to him.

For the inquisition, he repeated in his head, though, the words not entirely making sense at this point. The chantry brother was chanting now, a group chantry sisters gathered as well, humming along.

The Mages eyes went wide when the crowd split, and a man in a gold mask and black robes walked forward, an iron branding rod with the chantrys sunburst in hand and a pot of hot coals in another.

He swallowed audibly, this was it. This was the death of Dorian Pavus and the birth of who-knows-what; whatever became of him. Tranquility.

In a line, weakly standing, were the main faces of the inquisition. Whom, one would expect. Standing in front was commander Cullen, Inquisitor by him, who had to force down his and Dorians affairs for the sake of the commanders own reputation. Oh l, how it made him sick.

Their eyes would meet, and Cullen could only look away, getting looks of regret, unseen by Cullen, from Dorian. A glare, even, but Cullen was oblivious, staring at his boots.

It was too painful. This wasn't meant to happen.

Rutherford and Pavus, united, in this messy thing called love, retiring on the southern shores of Fereldan with plans of growing old together.

In love.

The hiss of metal on fire erupted softly, and Dorian only whimpered, eyes on the glowing red metal drawing near him.

The Inquisitor stood at Cullen's side, knowing of their relationship, and gripped his hand so tightly, their knuckles turned the same shade of white as the commanders face. Even for the, the Herald could understand how miserable it was to be made tranquil, despite not being a mage. They studied up on it, talked to a few of those inflicted...They stood there wishing they could be in Dorians place.

Him of all people didn't deserve this.

He didn't need to join the Inquisition. He didnt even. In fact, it was his own choice to stick around. Maybe influenced by Cullen's swaying ass, but other than that, it was his decision.

Cull was getting physically ill. Disgusted by this so called "rite." He would've excused himself to retch on the side of the chantry if it wasn't Dorian.

There was a cry. Dorians, and Cullen choked. He was forced back by a heavy hand owned by Varric, despite his size, who could imagine the traumatization Cullen was experiencing.

The last of the rite was spoken out loud, and the man with the brand stepped forward as two others grabbed Dorians neck pulling his head back forcefully in place.

If it were any other situation, they would've been dead, by Cullen's own hand. But everyone had to remain silent and watch as the mage was tortured. Ser Pavus staying stuff on the side.

Dorians eyes searched for Cullen's again, meeting only bloodshot whites and tears. He tried to smile at him, his usual "it'll be okay, amatus, i'll always be with you," but his gaze was clouded by tears.

Cullen didn't break eye contact. This was going to be the last he saw of his love.

The commander squeezed the Inquisitors hand, imagining Dorians in their place. His stomach was an empty pit, ready to empty what little contents it had at any second, but Cullen kept it down.

Hazel eyes on gold. Fantastic piercing gold eyes. "Marvelous" as Dorian would describe his own irises, "uncommon and mesmerizing." He was right, they were. The commander often finding himself lost in the valley of sun known as his lovers eyes.

Their eyes did not falter, tears drying, and Cullen's breath hitched in tight gasps. He didn't even notice the brand press sharply to the center of his forehead.

The apostates screams filled the chambers, and the Inquisition silently gasped and stirred uncomfortably. A painful ritual, and Cullen felt his body feel as if it were glass, breaking everywhere at the sound of Dorian in excruciating pain.

His eyes popped, back arched away from the brand. Hot iron against flesh. The stench of cooking skin filled the room, and the commander could feel his heart in his armor, pounding.

Dorians screams died out only after a minute, voice running dry with his throat on fire. He slumped forward, against his bonds, the pain being only a mild nuisance now, his body gone numb.

And it was over. He was released, his body falling limp to the floor like a rag doll. The Herald of Andraste was invited to retrieve him, pulling Dorian up into their arms once he was released from his chains.

They lifted his head up, speaking soft words to him, but getting no real response. Only silence.

A soldier joined in lifting him to his feet, struggling under what felt like dead weight.

But Dorian was alive, surely. His eyes were wide open as well as his mouth. His body ached, but couldn't think too much of it.

Cullen desperately joined their sides, lifting Dorians chin with his fingers ever so gently like he used to, searching for those golden orbs of eyes he saw last.

Instead of getting the eyes of a golden summers sun, he got the eyes of a deadman, broken on the inside, glazed over in a solid deep brown.

Dorian Pavus was no longer a mage. He was tranquil.

\---

Dear, my beloved. My love.

I can't stand to see you like this. The way you wander the halls of our fort, our home, so aimlessly without a care. The only time I see you show any spark of emotion is when the Herald practices with their rifts.

If only Solas were still here. He would know how I could fix you. So I could have you in my arms again. I am a greedy man, Dorian, surely, you must remember.

I love you. The words are hard to write now, as if my dying breath. But I love you, miss you. I wish you were here with me yet again, I cannot bear a day longer without you, love. I will write it again and again, till the end of my days, and the words will still not lose their meaning.

What would you have me do? I cannot lead as I am.

I'm dying, Dorian. I wish you could see now. Maybe we can be with each other again once this is all over; once the lyriums grasp on me tightens once more until my end.

Maybe.

It can’t be much longer now.

\---  
"Do you remember..." Cullen asked again, drained from spending hours with the healing tranquil. Healers did what they could, but Dorian remained silent and stiff, sprawled out in a bed a tower over from Cullen's office.

"...We are in love, Dorian...you must remember..." He squeezed his hand, hoping to get any sort of response other than a sigh or squeak of pain. It seemed hopeless, but Cullen wasn't going to give up just yet.

"Commander-"

"Leave!" He ordered, eyes not leaving Dorians. "I do not have time to busy myself with resource collecting, soldier!"

"Yes ser, but I--"

"What did I just say-?!" He snapped again, head turning to see a dwarf eye level with him, seeing how he was sitting down next to Dorians bed.

Varric.

"This...This isn't right, Curly. He's dead."

"He is not, you damned dwarf!" Cullen turned back to Dorian, who was staring at the ceiling lifelessly now.

"Look, I've seen dead men plenty of times. He's gone." Varric sighed, about to put his hand on Cullen's shoulder when it was slapped away aggressively.

"...He's breathing. He's alive. My Dorian is still in there somewhere."

"Let me tell you a story." He said, voice calm, "A short one I promise.

"Back in Kirkwall, we had an encounter with a tranquil romance." This caught Cullen's attention, and he glanced back at him, eyes puffy and red from crying. "...Anders, that mage that blew up the Chantry...Our friend."

Varric had to stop, reminiscing in all the good times they shared. "He had this lover. Made tranquil. He killed him himself. He begged for death. Anders killed his lover."

"This is a shitty story." Cullen growled.

"Hey- I'm just saying that maybe you need to make a decision for Dorian. If he...well. I'll just leave you to it."

Varric turned to leave, looking back at Cullen's hunched back, seeing his hand squeezing Dorians.

"And curly...?"

Cullen turned his head slightly in Varrics direction.

"Take care of yourself, please. He would want that."

\---

Dorian. We have found some old texts. Torn, but not impossible to recover and translate from Tevinter chantry speak.

There's a way we can fix this. Together. We can make you you again. You can be mine again. I just. It may take a long time, and my patience -

The lyrium has taken its toll already. The nightmares have come back at full force and it hurts to wake up to a cold bedside.

I can feel my body deteriorating piece by piece. I tore my own flesh earlier by mistake. It was a mistake. It bled a bright red, and I could see the shine of lyrium sparkling in it.

A beautiful sadness. Like what we have today.

I tried reteaching you today, Dorian. Who I was and how I felt. You said my name. I couldn't be happier. You learned a few phrases you can use to order my men around to help you get things you need...it’s progress.  
Hope.

I can only pray for the best to come out in the end of this.

If I continue to take the lyrium, will I have enough time to see you whole again? I can’t stop now. I can pray that I will see you as yourself soon. Lyrium is very...hard to wean myself off of. If you could remember how hard it was for you to do it the first time - - -

I’m rambling in these notes. I’m sorry.

\---

"You're...a familiar one."

Cullen could feel his neck snap and burn up, eyes falling on the pale cast of his ex lover. "How...so?"

"You're face. I don't remember. Your voice, I hear in my mind when times are quiet. Yet, I do not remember you."

"I am Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford, ser Dorian-" it hurt to call this thing by his name.

"I understand that, commander. But, who are you really?"

The question took the blond aback a bit, biting his lip as he searched for an answer.

"You're dying." Dorian spoke again before Cullen could give him an answer.

"Excuse me?"

"You're pale. Eyes sunken and red. You move with visible body aches. You're dying-"

"And what if it?!" Cullen snapped, throwing his books from his desk, not getting a single reaction to rise from the other man in his office.

Cullen panted, running a hand through his sweat-filled hair, curls falling onto his face.

"Excuse me..." He gasped, gripping the edge of his desk and avoiding the tranquils dead gaze. "I...I'm very ill. Please, Dorian, if you would excuse me...I must be getting back to my duties."

"Yes ser, commander." He replied with a bow of his head, turning on his heel to leave.

"Dorian-" Cullen called out suddenly; desperately, making the man turn back to face him. Cullen rubbed his tired eyes, remembering this tranquils never styled his hair, growing it out and shaving his mustache. This wasn't Dorian. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize, ser. I don't feel it."

And Dorian left

\--

Medics...experts. Say I have days. They're amazed I'm still able to move now in my condition.

Years of lyrium consumption and it has finally taken the final step of consuming me instead.

I can see the red crystals under my skin. My flesh. My teeth. Under my nails. The Herald worries but I insist they do not fret. The matter of my timely death is between only me and a surgeon here in Skyhold.

If you were here, with me...

No no.

I suppose I can tell you all about it in the arms of Andraste and the maker soon. Stories for us to share under a vivid moon with glasses of fine wines on that dreamy beach house you've always wanted. Or, whatever the afterlife holds for us.

Do you still believe in Andraste, Dorian? She can bring us together. I hear death is like a warm blanket as you sleep for the rest of eternity. That wouldn't be so bad if I was with you, what do you think? A long dream perhaps.

We can have a family. Children if we wish. May I kiss you under the stars of the heavens as we dream together? I love you, Dorian. May the Maker take me to you or no where at all.

\--

"Commander Cullen has passed."

Words said as stone should hurt like so, but did not to a tranquil. The words hardly meant anything other than a man meeting his end.

"It was peaceful. In his sleep." The speaker continued on a podium, "He was asleep with the maker decided to take this man into his arms and grant him a peaceful sleep."

Dorian fiddled with his thumbs, sitting in the front of the crowd. Some where crying, he noticed, others stiff with fright as realization that their beloved commander had died. But the tranquil felt none of it.

"...May his casket be sent away at sea in flames this evening. Those who wish to join may."

The crowd split, yet Dorian found himself visiting the bed up for display to see him one last time. He leaned in, eyes soft and relaxed, unwavering at the sight of the commanders even paler skin. White as a silk sheet, hands crossed over his chest with a bouquet of various flowers from Skyholds gardens.

He certainly looked peaceful, running his hand along his cold cheek, only to be gently tugged away by the Herald.

"He...wanted me to give this to you. Along with a gift. He told me to read it with you."

Dorians eyes fell on the stack of papers pressed tightly together in a leather folder. A handmade book of sorts, a smaller wooden box in their other hand.

"May we take a seat?"

\---

I can feel death’s cold grip on me this morning, and have already informed the Inquisitor to keep an eye on me; gave them directions as to what to do with these notes and my belongings. As well as how to run the inquisition.

I lay in my bed now, tired, writing by the last stubby shaft of our favorite candle. You always said the smell of lavender bothered your nose, but enjoyed the scent of my room nonetheless. Odd, you are at times, but my love is unwavering.

/there's tear stains on the paper, wrinkling sections and blurring some inked words/

It's cold, Dorian.

I miss you. I will never stop writing it.

‘m sorry it has to come down to this. I’m sorry I’ll never get to see your smile again. I’m sorry I let the lyrium take me before this. This were not my intentions. But we'll be together soon. I promise.

I am growing more tired by the second. Makers breath, I wish I had more time to write you, but a million years could not fit the amount of words it would take to describe what I feel for you

Take these letter. You may not know the feeling behind them, but I know you're in there somewhere. Read. Try to remember. In the box is my final letter written long ago. I'm sorry my gift to you is late, and always will be.

/there's splattered blood on the page/

Excuse the mess, I had coughed and have no time to rewrite this on a clean sheet.

Never forget that I love you. I always have. Even a sense of what I felt lingers on the shell of your walking corpse and I hate myself for being so weak. I've fallen for you. Only you. MY you please understand.

I will meet you again soon. Minutes now

I lov

\--

"Take my hand."

The request was simple, and Dorian took the Heralds hand as they read through each page. Their anchor drawing what emotion they can as Dorian made contact with it. The tranquil was flooded with emotions, breaking down more and more at each written word made just for him.

This was the fades doing. Every emotion, pounding the tranquil one by one, overloading him. He was sobbing into the Inquisitors shoulder, biting his tongue, trying to keep quiet.

A dry cough, and Dorian would cover his face and bite down on each of his digits to keep calm. Each word made the rite of tranquility seem like a pin prick to the amount of pain he was experiencing now.

Oh, how he wished this was all an elaborate ruse to just get him. A prank. A joke. Run by Sera, maybe. And Cullen was alive and well in his room waiting for him. But he wasn't. He saw his corpse-- his--

Dorian finished the last page, eyes falling on the box held out to him. He gasped, unable to breathe as shaky fingers reached out to unhinge the little latch, opening it up. A paper.

"Dear Dorian of House Pavus,

"My years with you have passed like minutes, and I wish for it to stay this way forever more and another forever afterwards. I love you, Dorian Pavus, and may we never be apart.

"--Your soon-husband, Cullen Stanton Rutherford"

A ring.

A gold ring hidden beneath the paper squeezed between two silk holds.

A jewel of sorts sat on top, as gold as the sun.

Dorian cried out, wanting to scream but his voice not letting him. The Inquisitor only holding on tight as they helped slide the ring onto his finger.

"Please..." He croaked out facing the Inquisitor, gold eyes shining through dark bangs, "Never let go of my hand."


End file.
